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    Outlast the Rain
    Outlast the Rain
    Outlast the Rain
    Ebook307 pages4 hours

    Outlast the Rain

    By Robert Reynolds

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    About this ebook

    Navy service school buddies ship off to Vietnam only to find themselves temporarily abandoned. It's an ominous welcome.  The men are soon assigned to security police units protecting Navy interests within the city. Frequent rocket attacks and grueling workshifts keep the men on edge.  Personal differences cause dissension in the group. Lucrative financial opportunities in the black-market prove tempting for some.  An encounter with U.S. military and Vietnamese law enforcement authorities ensue. Unforeseen events lead to a series of misfortunes and a dramatic conclusion to this exciting tale. Outlast the Rain is a gripping, authentick tale of military life overseas; camaraderie and friendship, replete with greed, crime and betrayal in the exotic, war-torn Far East.  

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Reynolds
    Release dateFeb 8, 2021
    ISBN9781387523825
    Outlast the Rain
    Author

    Robert Reynolds

    Based in Calgary, Robert is an emerging author who spends his days working in the oil and gas industry but has been a big fan of the spy thriller genre ever since his childhood when he read one of his grandfather's original James Bond paperbacks from the late 50's. He is married with a young daughter and when he's not day dreaming about dangerous adventures in exotic locales he enjoys running and other outdoor pursuits.

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      Book preview

      Outlast the Rain - Robert Reynolds

      Outlast the Rain

      Chapter 1

      The C-130’s engines droned above the South China Sea and Luther Brady along with several dozen other young men tried to doze during the five-hour flight from Kadena Air Base to Da Nang.

      The big military plane bounced lightly in the mild turbulence.  Brady tried to make the best of the discomfort of his orange canvas seat where he could see nothing but the plane’s dim interior and the weary faces of the men across from him.

      I wonder how much longer before we land, Pelletier said above the roar of the engine.  He, Brady, and half a dozen others had attended a Seabee school together in Rhode Island and now they were embarking on their journey to Vietnam. Dave Lutz simply shook his head in response to the question without trying to shout over the noise of the engines. 

      Brady leaned back, shifting now and then to keep the dozing head of the man next to him from off his shoulder.  It had become annoying.  He nudged an elbow into the man’s side and the man gave a startled grunt and let his head droop on the shoulder of the man on his other side.

      Only a few days had passed since Brady had flown out to San Bernadino and caught a bus to Norton Air Force Base after taking a short home leave.  There, hundreds of military just like him were milled about awaiting departure of the first leg of their flight to Vietnam. 

      Is your name on the manifest? someone had asked.

      Right there, Brady said, nervous about not being in the right place at the right time.  During the flight to San Bernadino he’d been anxious about missing his connection and declared AWOL, but the flight had gone well and there were no traffic delays on the bus ride to the airbase.  With so much going on he’d had little time to think about where he was destined. 

      The man scanned the manifest and checked Brady’s orders.

      Okay, you can board.

      Soon the big commercial plane was filled to capacity with other young men just as nervous and off it raced down the runway and went skyward racing its shadow until it passed through a cluster of white clouds and the shadow disappeared.

      There was plenty of nervous chatter as the airliner flew over California and then out to sea, the vast expanse barren and silvery in the sun’s harsh light. 

      In time the plane became quiet as its youthful passengers drifted off to sleep.  Somewhere in front and behind him, Brady’s friends were scattered.

      He turned around and looked back.  Pelletier was dozing in an aisle seat a few rows back, but he could not see the others.  He turned back and faced the front and then, like so many, tried to sleep. Many hours later the plane set down at Okinawa’s Kadena Air Base. 

      By the third day at Kadena the troops had been broken into smaller groups and now he found himself on the military C-130 being shuttled to his final destination in Vietnam.  The young man next to him had nodded off and his head fell heavily upon Brady’s shoulder and Brady lost his concentration about what lay ahead.

      A member of the flight crew peeked into the cargo area to check on his cargo. He nodded and flashed thumbs up to the pilot who had turned slightly in his seat. The pilot returned the nod and continued on his course.

      The monotonous drone of the plane’s engines had lulled many of the men to sleep as they glided over the vast blue ocean.  The few small windows in the cargo hold were high on the bulkhead and seated, no one could see the ocean below.  It was easier to not talk than to try to make one’s self heard over the engines so Brady let the miles slip by in boredom.

      Finally the plane began its slow descent into Da Nang and men began to wake up and make nervous chatter.  A few stood up and tried to peer through a bulkhead window.

      I see mountains and ocean, someone said.  A silver sliver snaked through patches of glassy rice paddies, a wide river along the plain.

      What’s it like? someone else asked.  Can you see the war?

      That’s a dumb thing to ask, the first one shouted. 

      By now, everyone had stirred awake.

      The plane banked and Brady caught a glimpse of green mountains and the plane dipped lower and clusters of red tile and rusty corrugated metal rooftops came into view.

      Sit down back there and buckle in, one of the crew commanded.

      The smell of fuel and exhaust and thousands of flight hours filled the plane’s interior as it dropped down rumbling through the sky.  Then it was on the ground rolling across the tarmac runway and the chatter increased. 

      The bulky aircraft rolled to a halt as the would-be warriors gathered up their gear.  Brady breathed a sigh of relief to be able to stand and stretch and get off the uncomfortable canvas seat.

      We’re here, Gomez said, disoriented after his sudden awakening.  What now? 

      The rear door lowered and blue sky burst into view and then the haze of nearby mountains and metal aircraft hangars and then the gray tarmac. Stifling air rolled in as heat waves danced along the asphalt and men began shuffling down the tail ramp onto the tarmac that already began to burn through the thick soles of their military issue boots. 

      The arrivals mostly looked the same, young and fuzzy cheeked, except for the higher ranked petty officers and some battle hardened soldiers who had been to Okinawa for R&R and were now returning on the flight to the war.  Their features showed them to be little older than Brady, but they carried a tough, grittiness of having been to war.  The others, the ones Brady had attended service school with, looked as if they should still be walking high school halls in their letterman jackets and joking with pretty classmates.

      Small clusters of soldiers and Marines who had flown in on the C-130 peeled off to wait in the hot sun.  They didn’t have to wait long for someone to emerge and lay claim to them.  Soon they went marching off around a building to where transportation was waiting leaving the hapless sailors to fend for themselves.

      Fall in for muster, Petty Officer 1st Class Sterner commanded and the rest fell into some semblance of order while gawking about the steamy flight line.  He began calling out names from his manifest.

      Anders?

      Here.

      Bradley?

      Here.

      Brady?

      Here.

      Burke?

      Here sir!

      Craig?

      Yo. And on it went. 

      As expected, no one had gotten off the plane from when the men had mustered and boarded at Kadena.  Sterner finished up and folded and tucked the roster back into his pocket.

      Someone should be out to pick us up shortly so don’t get too comfortable, PO1 Sterner said.  He seemed to be in charge in the absence of a higher graded officer. Find a place out of the sun where you can rest.

      Well ain’t this just dandy, one of the sailors muttered.  Others mumbled their agreement over their unsettled situation.

      Ain’t this just like the Navy, Gomez said. 

      We’re here now.  We may as well make the best of it, Holtz said.  Holtz fancied himself a philosopher.

      Shut up, Gomez said.

      Several of the men stood around making observations, theorizing and complaining about the stifling heat and speculating what to expect of Vietnam now that they were on solid ground.

      Further down the runway an array of aircraft was neatly lined along the flight line, almost lazily in their appearance. 

      A fuel truck was working its way along the line readying the aircraft for their next missions.  Even in the boiling sun the base was alive with noise and activity. 

      Aircraft of many guises were taking off and landing at a remarkable rate.  A fighter jet roared down the runway and lifted sharply into the afternoon sky as it swung north over the sea.  Shortly, an olive drab helicopter settled down across the way, stirring dust from the force of the rotor blades.  An observation aircraft took off making way for a C-47 to lumber in.  There was movement all up and down the flight line.  An Air Police jeep passed nearby running the length of the runway.  The sun had moved marginally across the sky since their arrival.  As of yet, no one had come to rescue the fresh new troops.

      I don’t know if I’ve ever been this hot, Sanders said, pacing back and forth in the sun.

      Of course you have.  It might help if you found some shade, Holtz said.

      The whine of an engine sounded overhead and shortly a C-7 Caribou touched down and taxied to a stop across the runway and several heavily armed soldiers in battle gear filed out.  Brady watched them shuffle off, backs bent under the weight of their dust-covered gear.  The Caribou’s propellers came to a stop as the engines shut down.  An olive-drab jeep rolled up and waited until the pilot and crew deplaned.  The men stood in a semi-circle talking for a few minutes and then most of the flight crew walked off.  The pilot got in the jeep and it drove away. 

      The aroma of diesel and jet fuel, exhaust and tar lingered on the hot air like a pungent fog.  Each new landing or departure added to the thick layer of odor.

      There was no breeze and the wall of the metal hangar was warm against Brady’s back as was the tarmac he sat on but the choices for comfort were few.  Others from his group were doing the same; either propped against a building or succumbing fully to the heat and were sprawled on the tarmac like a littering of khaki-clad mannequins. 

      I ain’t gonna make it, Gomez said dramatically, using his hand to fan the air.

      It’s stifling, Pelletier agreed

      Whiners, Holtz said. He was stretched out on the tarmac with his cap shading his eyes from the brightness of the afternoon. 

      Someone lit a cigarette.  Someone checked his watch.  A few of them went to find a latrine.

      After a while Brady got up and wandered inside a large hangar where a few hardened soldiers were loitering, red mud caked to their boots and red dust coated their fatigues.  The massive doors of the hangar were pushed wide open and there was little going on inside the building.  A short, brown-skinned Asian woman tended a small food cart and was selling a variety of canned and prepared foodstuffs.  A disheveled, dusty soldier was at the cart paying for a hot dog. 

      Keep the change, mamasan.

      The woman grinned widely and Brady saw her teeth, stained a shiny black from years of chewing betel nut, although a bright sliver of gold edged one of her front teeth.  She removed a few pieces of crumpled currency from her cash box and tucked them safely into her tunic before turning her attention to Brady.

      How much for that? Brady said pointing at a small can of Vienna sausages when the woman finished with the soldier.

      The woman replied in a heavy local accent, her glittery grin still apparent.  The price was quite reasonable.

      Okay, I’ll take a can of those sausages, he said and dug a dollar bill from his pocket.

      No can do, the diminutive woman shook her head.  MPC only.

      What is that?

      She reached in the till, produced a curiously printed military payment certificate and waved it in front of him.

      MPC, she repeated and then said slowly.  M..P..C.

      It’s this funny money, the soldier said, recognizing Brady as being new in country and unfamiliar with the ways of his new world.  He flashed a couple denominations for Brady to see.  Even coinage was in paper currency.  Get used to it, buddy. It’s either this or gook money.

      A helicopter flew over rattling the building.

      Can I swap a dollar with you? Brady said, waving the bill in front of the man.

      Here, take this, the man said, handing Brady an MPC dollar.  When Brady offered to exchange the American green dollar the man simply shrugged.  Keep it.  There’s no place I can spend it where I’m headed.

      Air inside the hangar was hot and still.  Air outside was hot with a light breeze.  Brady went outside and sat in the shade of the metal building with his back against the wall and popped open his Vienna sausages. 

      He ate quietly, watching the goings on, until the sausages were gone.

      Where’d you get that? Holtz asked.  It was too late to offer up one as Brady had finished them all off. 

      There’s a lady inside selling snacks, he said.  But you’ll need MPC to buy with.  He explained military payment certificates the best he could relishing the fact he had learned his first lesson of Vietnam and was proud to impart his knowledge to Holtz, who seemed to know everything.

      You could have saved some for me, Holtz said.

      Brady thought for a moment.

      You’re right.  I could have.

      After eating, the relentless heat made him sleepy, but he was not good at sleeping unless he was in a bed so he took out his writing pad—the one with U.S. Navy ships sailing on a faint blue background. He had used the pad to write home during his tour of duty in Rhode Island.  He found the pencil stub with the name of a local business imprinted on it that he’d brought from home and began to scribble out his message.

      Somewhere midway through his second paragraph a distant explosion rumbled.  He flinched and looked to others working the flight line for a hint of what to do and where to go, but no one other than the newbies paid it much mind and business continued uninterrupted on the air base.  However, he looked for where he might take cover if it happened again.

      We’ve been here little over and hour, he wrote in his scribbling cursive style.  Already we’ve come under a rocket attack!  It was difficult writing too much about the attack, as he didn’t want to alarm his folks when they read the letter some ways in the future. 

      For a while he studied the locals working in the hangar and then tried to describe them; short, dark, chattering in a foreign tongue.  He had already decided he would try to learn what he could of their language and he wondered what he could make of it in the year’s time of his tour.

      Another explosion occurred half an hour later with similar tranquil response by the Air Force personnel.

      You men are pretty hardcore, Brady admired when an airman nonchalantly passed by.

      How’s that? the airman asked. 

      Rockets coming in and none of you even flinch.

      Those ain’t rockets, the airman snickered.  It’s Seabees blowing holes in a mountainside.  That goes on all day, everyday.  You’ll know rocket attacks when they happen, that’s for sure. 

      Brady amended his letter to reflect this new piece of information.  Still no one had come to pick up the new men.

      Along the runway heat waves shimmered as if they were invisible ballerinas.  Even the weak breeze they had arrived on had grown still and the stifling heat of the Da Nang afternoon settled in like a heavy quilt over the base.   

      A long way off in the afternoon haze, a couple huge rock formations arose off a flood plain for the Hàn River.  A chopper was flying in front of the outcroppings and it was some ways closer as its sharp silhouette wasn’t altered in the haze.

      What’s over there? Pelletier asked of a Marine who was lying on the hard asphalt and using a khaki-colored backpack as a makeshift pillow while he waited to be taken back to the field.  The Marine squinted into the bright, cloudless sky until he could make out the helicopter. 

      Nothing to worry about, he said.  Navy hospital, a chopper base, some other military installations.  All the bad stuff happens out there. He motioned over his shoulder as if Pelletier could see through the hangar walls.

      Squid, eh? the Marine said, turning his head slightly on the backpack and glancing through his one open eye.

      Just got in country a few hours ago.  Been stranded and waiting since we got off the plane, Pelletier said.  The chopper seemed to be dropping lazily toward earth.

      MAG-16, the Marine said with little interest.  

      What?

      That chopper base I told you about.  That’s where he’s going in, right below the Marble Mountains.

      Is that where you’re headed?

      Me?  Nah.  I’m headed for the boonies. His face was darkly tanned with small, lighter lines that came from squinting during long patrols in the bright sunlight in the valleys below the city.  Red mud caked the thick soles of his boots.  I came up for a little R&R at China Beach.  Now it’s time to go back, if I can catch a chopper headed that way.

      I don’t envy you.

      We all have to be somewhere.  It’s just the way the dice roll.

      The fuel truck was working its way closer coming up the line of aircraft on at a time.  It was close enough now that Pelletier could see fuel vapors wiggling invisibly in the hot afternoon air.

      So where’s the Navy located?

      The Marine rose up on one elbow to get his bearings.

      See that mountain out there? He said, gazing off toward the northeast where a hump of tall, hazy hills arose out of the sea. The main Navy base sits on the end of a peninsula where those mountains are.

      With ships and all that?

      There are plenty in the harbor at times.

      The Marine had closed his eyes again, resting his weary body in the warmth of the sweltering day.

      I wonder if that’s where we’re to go?

      Could be, the Marine said sleepily.

      In time, Brady dug a pocket book out of his gear; The Bedford Incident, a compelling tale about a Navy ship and a catastrophic event gone awry.  He’d been reading it a few pages at a time over the past months—mostly while killing time awaiting flights to here or there.  The book was becoming dog-eared from the many times he’d fished it out of his sea bag; more so than from his many readings.  In all that time he’d not made much headway reading it and had thought about giving the book away, but he was not one to easily part with his possessions.

      Other Navy personnel from off the plane had taken solitary refuge to be alone or were gathered in little bunches discussing their predicament; most of the conferring centered on their anxiety over what they might expect now that they were actually in country. 

      Cigarette smoke hung heavily on the sweltering air. The tinny clank of Zippo lighter lids sounded frequently.  Even some of the young men who had deplaned as non-smokers were now bumming Camels and lighting up. It would be the first of their new vices, but hardly the last.  

      A small Cessna with U.S. Army markings rolled onto the tarmac and began its sprint down the runway.  Its engine hummed like a buzz saw as it raced past, lifted into a cloudless sky, banked and was lost from sight.

      Bird dog, Holtz said.  Brady had not heard the other man come up.

      Huh?

      Observation aircraft, Holtz said, imparting newly acquired wisdom.

      How would you know that? Brady said.

      I was over there talking with some zoomies, Holtz said, motioning toward a small crew of airmen who were tinkering with getting a portable floodlight operating while it was still daylight. 

      There was a steady coming and going of small aircraft: caribous and various choppers, and a steady parade of battle-geared soldiers and Marines boarding the craft.  Once in a while a fighter would race down the runway and lift skyward with a sudden thunderous burst of its jets.  The frequent distractions caused him to make little headway on the book he was reading.

      A mechanical mule rolled by pulling a wagon carrying a wooden pallet with a dozen long metal containers held in place with red straps.

      What’s in there? Gomez inquired of a dusty soldier who sat with his back against the hangar smoking a cigarette.

      Are you serious? the soldier said.  When did you get in country?

      Couple hours ago, Gomez said.

      Them’s coffins, the soldier said as he exhaled a cloud of gray smoke.  His cigarette had burned down to less than an inch and Gomez noticed yellow stains between the man’s first and second fingers. 

      Coffins?  With bodies in them?

      That’s generally what coffins are for.

      Oh...  Where are they headed?

      They’re headed home.

      Gomez watched the mule as it made it’s way to a C-130 that waited with its rear loading door gaping open.  The mule’s driver pulled behind the aircraft and waited while a forklift lifted the pallet off the trailer and deposited it inside the big plane. 

      Does that go on much? Gomez said.

      You do realize you’re in ‘Nam, the soldier said, grinding out his cigarette stub on the tarmac. Shaking his head in disbelief he said, Newbies... 

      The shadows of the hangar stretched further now as the sun moved across the sky toward the westward mountains.  Petty Officer Sterner paced back and forth on the tarmac pausing now and then to speak with others who had flown in with him and wondered aloud why they had been deserted. Someone should have been there to meet their aircraft and tell them where to go and what to do.  But no one was there and hours had passed with no one from the Navy coming out to meet them. 

      An F-4 Phantom raced with thunder down the runway and lifted off, fire breathing from its tail. 

      That’s the loudest thing I’ve ever heard! Pelletier shouted over the jet engine’s roar, but most of it went unheard.  The Phantom was caught in the sunlight, flashing silver in the clear sky then breaking past the mountain at the end of the bay and disappearing from sight.

      After a while Brady’s eyes began to tear up from the heat and dust. The printed words on the pages became blurred so he set the book aside.  He thought how in a mere few months he had been more places in America than he had been in his entire life up to then and now he was halfway around the world and how the book had been all those places with him and still he had yet to finish it.  Perhaps he never would finish it.  The Seabees blasted the mountainside again and the metal wall of the hangar shuddered, but he knew the routine now and it did not bother him. 

      By early evening Petty Officer 1st Class Sterner called

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